


A Peace Treaty Too Far

by Wrappedbubble



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Hurt, I'm Sorry, Minor Violence, One Shot, Other, Pain, Please Don't Hate Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-01 20:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrappedbubble/pseuds/Wrappedbubble
Summary: Colm O'Driscoll has Arthur and he's going to use him to make peace with Dutch.  This is sad so if you're not in a place to want to read it that's ok.





	A Peace Treaty Too Far

**Author's Note:**

> I love these characters. I hope I've done them justice. I don't own them or anything to do with them.

"I ain't gonna kill you here boy, " Arthur watched through eyes swollen and bruised. His arms ached, shoulders protesting any movement, all feeling gone in his hands and fingers. 

"You see, " Colm O'Driscoll drawled "I've been studying good old Dutch van der Linde and I. Have. A. Plan" 

Colm stepped back and observed Arthur, pulling a lungful of smoke from his cigarette and huffing it out into Arthur's face. "You look a mess Morgan," he said, reaching up to pull on the ropes around Arthur's wrists. "Just checking, " he smiled at Arthur, watching him try and fail to keep back a hiss of pain. Arthur's toes barely kept contact with the ground below his dangling form, the rope pulling his arms high above his head had no slack in it.

Colm dropped the cigarette to the floor and ground it down with his boot. "Don't get too comfy now, "he said. "Got somewhere to take you real soon. " He aimed a swift kick at Arthur's stomach and left, laughing at the yell of pain that it caused. 

\--------------------

Arthur came to when he hit the ground hard. His arms were free but his wrists were still tied, his ankles bound too. He opened his mouth to speak, to shout, to just say something at all but a rough bit of material was shoved in it. He lay on his side on the floor while whoever was gagging him was doing so roughly. The material dug painfully into the corners of his mouth, splitting the skin there as it was tied firmly behind his head.

He was rolled to his back by a foot pushed firmly in his side. Colm stood over him, a foot planted either side of his waist. Colm held out a hand to him. Arthur eyed him warily.

"Well come on," Colm said, wiggling his fingers at Arthur. "Time for you to go home. And you've got a special delivery to make for me. " 

None of it made a lick of sense to Arthur. If Colm was letting him go why not just ride him out away from camp blindfolded then release him to find his own way? Nothing about the situation sat right but Arthur knew he had no choice. He reached up his tied hands and let Colm roughly haul him into a standing position until someone hefted him across their shoulder and out into the cool evening air. 

He was dropped on his back in a wagon, head hitting the wooden boards of its floor hard. He muffled a cry of pain into his gag as Colm got in to the wagon and sat on a seat above him. 

"Sit up boy," he said, enjoying watching Arthur attempt to pull himself into an upright position in a moving wagon whilst bound hand and foot. He waited silently, an amused grin on his face as Arthur finally got up, sweating and groaning. 

"Now here's how it's going to go, " Colm said, leaning forward, hands on his knees. "We got three men to every member of your gang. They are armed to the back teeth and won't hesitate to obliterate you and your friends at a word from me. " He leant back and pulled a bottle with a label dangling off it from the satchel hanging at his side. "You tell them that. Then you tell them that I want a peace treaty. Your lot leaves us alone and we do the same. Then you drink this, " he waved the bottle in Arthur's face. "And that signs this little treaty of ours off. No drink? No treaty. Just a massacre. Got it? "

Arthur looked at the bottle, trying to make out what was written on the label but the sway of the wagon and the swelling around his eyes made it impossible. With no choice other than to agree he nodded his head. 

"Good, " said Colm, putting the bottle back in his satchel. 

\------------------

Arthur had lost all track of time in the back of the wagon but when they finally stopped and hauled him out it was darker than it had been when they had started their ride. Someone cut the ropes at his ankles and he stood unsteadily, feeling gradually returning to his feet.

"We go on foot from here, " Colm said. All around him Arthur could see O'Driscolls, guns slung over their shoulders ready, fanning out in all directions. Clearly Colm had not been bluffing. They were at the edge of the tree line, denser woodland in front of them which would lead to Dutch and the others. Colm gave Arthur a shove to start him walking. 

"I want you to stop just out of sight of your camp," Colm whispered at him. "And don't do anything dumb or that massacre we talked about will become all too real. " Arthur nodded that he understood and kept walking, trying to be as silent as possible. He could just make out a few O'Driscolls getting into position either side of him as he stopped where Colm had told him to. A knife cut the ropes from around his wrists and the gag was untied. On instinct Arthur probed the corners of his mouth with his tongue, the iron taste of blood evidence of how hard it had been tied on him. 

"Now then, take this, " Colm handed the bottle to him. "Do as you've been told like a good boy." 

Arthur did not give Colm another look. He simply walked away from him and entered the camp. Hosea was the first to hear him as he cleared his throat, trying to grab someone's attention without sending them running at him in an attempt to help. 

"Arthur, " he heard Hosea whisper. Then louder again. "Arthur! Dutch Arthur's back! " 

The rest of the gang were quick to react. Bowls of stew were dropped to the ground, guns were abandoned mid clean, and Dutch came striding from his tent.

"Stop where you are, " Arthur yelled at them all. Not everyone was willing to listen, particularly Dutch, Hosea and John. They continued to approach him.

"Just stop," he said, shaking his head. It was this that pulled the three men up. More than shouting ever could, it was the sight of Arthur Morgan, a sadness in his tone, beaten down by injuries that never should have had such an effect on him that stopped them running to him. 

Arthur held his hands up in front of himself, one fisted around the bottle with a shaking that he could not prevent. 

"You are surrounded," he said. "There are three O'Driscolls to each one of us and they are ready to kill us all. Colm wants peace though Dutch," he looked Dutch in eye, trusting his gaze not to falter that way, trusting his voice better. "I am your peace treaty. I drink this and they go away. You don't bother them, they don't bother you." 

"You don't need to do that son," Dutch said, motioning to the bottle in Arthur's trembling grasp. 

"It's this or a massacre," Arthur said, removing the cork from the bottle and throwing it to one side. "I am the peace treaty." He closed his eyes and downed the contents of the bottle in one go. He took a few deep breaths. Nothing had changed. He considered that Colm had intended to give him the fright of life when he realised that his extremities were tingling and throbbing, hands and feet going numb. The bottle fell from his grasp as he dropped to his knees. 

Dutch rushed for him, catching him just a moment too late as Arthur flailed a hand toward him, grabbing at the chains on Dutch's waistcoat and snapping them when he pulled desperately at them. 

"Charles, Javier! " Dutch yelled out. "Get everyone accounted for. Hosea, take Bill and Sadie and check the woods for O'Driscolls. You see any you shoot them in the stomach, leave them die slow the bastards. "

John ran for Dutch and Arthur and dropped down beside them in the dirt. "What should i do Dutch?" 

"The bottle, get the bottle," said Dutch. 

John cast a glance around in that semi light and saw it, label still hanging off it. He grabbed it up and read, hoping to find out what exactly it was that Arthur had drunk. 

"Dutch," John said, the word coming out so low that he had to repeat himself. "Dutch. You need to see this." He pushed the bottle into Dutch's hands and watched helplessly as Arthur's body coughed and gasped and god damn racked itself out in the dirt. 

**Question - how far is the nearest doctor? Answer - too far**

Dutch looked at John, eyes wild. 

"We gotta try Dutch," John said.

" Get the horses," said Dutch, before turning back to Arthur. 

\----------------

All Arthur could sense was burning hot followed by aching cold. They switched one to the other, changing in a second with no middle ground to get comfortable on. His muscles and ligaments tensed and stretched and he knew, he just knew that they were going to pull themselves apart, pull him apart. 

He forced his eyes open and saw demons. Blood sucking parasites. Monsters that wanted to strip him of his skin, strip him of his soul, bleed him dry and tear him apart. 

\-------------------

"Arthur, son, I've got you," said Dutch. Arthur had opened his eyes but there was no focus in them. They kept rolling back and refused to focus. With a howl of utter terror Arthur scratched at his face, gouging at his eyes. Dutch grabbed at his wrists to stop him.

"We're going to get you help," said Dutch, holding Arthur's hands down at his sides. It didn't stop Arthur trying, and he fought the contact, his back arching up off the ground and his head pulled back. Dutch murmured to him, gentle sounds to try to calm him even though he knew it was not getting through to him. 

The sound of hooves brought his attention to John, two horses with him and waiting for Dutch to tell him what he should do now.

"Help me John," Dutch said. "I'll ride him into Valentine. It's the nearest doctor. You take that bottle and ride ahead. You'll be quicker. See if that doctor can't figure something out before I get there." Dutch pushes the bottle into John's satchel before mounting up just behind his saddle, leaving room for Arthur in front. 

"I can't get him up," John grinds out, trying to wrestle Arthur up off the ground whose arms and legs are flailing, his chest heaving in an uncomfortable rhythm with the constricting of his stomach muscles. 

"You can do it John, " Dutch says. "He's your brother, now get him up here. " Dutch leans as far as he can without falling and grabs hold of any part of Arthur that he can in order to help John haul him up into the saddle. Arthur twists in the saddle, his arms bending to angles that Dutch things will stop bending and start breaking if it continues unchecked. 

"See you in town," is all John says as he kicks his spurs into his horse with a yell, surging the animal forward uncaring of what pieces of camp paraphernalia he ruins in his wake. 

Dutch holds Arthur as firmly as his convulsions will allow him to, hoping that he'll be able to control him. He urges his horse after John as fast as he dares, his shoulder a backstop for Arthur's head. He can hear Arthur's teeth grinding together, pained grunts escaping from between them. "You're good son, " Dutch says, hoping to believe those words as much as he wants then to be true for Arthur. 

Dutch shifts his arm around Arthur every so often as he feels him slip a little in the saddle. Arthur's movements have slowed a little, his muscles have relaxed a touch and allowed his head to rest back on Dutchs shoulder where he has turned his face to press close to his neck. Dutch presses his face towards Arthur's touch and feels a dampness on his cheek. Trusting his horse to stay on the path in the darkness he turns to see Arthur, eyes shut and tears making tracks down his face. His breath on Dutchs face is shallow and blood has escaped the corner of his mouth although whether from biting his own tongue or from somewhere else entirely Dutch cannot tell. 

"No..." whispers Arthur. 

"It's okay son," Dutch tells him, gripping him tighter as he feels Arthur slide in the saddle again. "John's gone to the doctor, he'll fix you up right. You will be fine. "

No..." whispers Arthur again. "... more."

"You have got to try Arthur, trust in me." 

Arthur shakes his head weakly before leaning forward and vomiting, the acrid smell of it filling the air around them, falling on the horses mane and down her front legs. There is so much of it. Too much. And Dutch can see in the slight moonlight that it is more blood than anything else. Dutch looks at it and nods to himself, understanding what Arthur meant when he told him no more. No more running, no more chasing the impossible. He slowed the horse and tackled Arthur down from her as gently as he could, trying to avoid all of the mess and blood and lay him on the floor in the open air. No more heading for town because if this was all that was left then he would be damned if he'd allow Arthur to be drugged and prodded in a doctor's office over the clean air of this wide open space. He removed his vest and used it to wipe Arthur's face and mouth, cleaning him up as best he could. Arthur twitched under his care, his body refusing to give up quite yet even though his mind had already done so. His shallow breaths rattled in his chest which was tight under it's slow rise and fall. Dutch knew hopelessness when it looked him in the eye. He took one of Arthur's hands in his own, prising his fisted fingers apart to allow him to grip into Dutchs hold instead of his own, to take out the pain on Dutch instead of himself. He held on to him as Arthur's grip loosened, as his chest slowed, as the rattle deepened. As everything came to a stop and the world turned around them, heedless of the tragedy that it had witnessed. 

\------------------

John rode hard, both him and his horse sweating and out of breath by the time he reached Valentine. He didn't wait to stop before he'd swung his leg over and jumped down, hitting the ground running. His head was moving faster than his legs and he stumbled as he ran, hands grasping at the earth to stop himself falling fully down, running back to an upright stance and flinging himself fists first at the door to the doctors office, pounding and yelling at it.

"I need help," he gasped out as soon as the door opened. "I can pay, I have money, just tell me what this is and how to save a man who drank it. " He scrabbled in his satchel and found the bottle, thrusting it at the doctor stood in his bed clothes before him. 

"You had better come in, " said the doctor, moving back from the door. John pushed his way in, fidgeting and stomping back and for while that doctor examined the bottle by lamp light. "This label is unusual, " he said. "Looks like you might have a murder attempt on your hands here sir. Should i fetch the sheriff? "

"If I wanted the sheriff I'd have got him myself, now can you help or not? " John said holding out fifty dollars in notes. "Take all of it, just save my friend. "

The doctor took the money without hesitation. "I can mix you something up although how effective it'll be without really knowing what this was I can't say. When did your friend drink this?" The doctor asked as he began pulling bottles of liquid out of various cupboards, using a dropper to collect them in one small vial. 

"Maybe an hour ago?" John guessed.

"Well," the doctor sighed, putting a stopper in the vial and handing it to John. "Try and get this under his tongue. It's a shot in the dark, bit of a cure-all attempt and to be honest with you it's been in his system a long while now..." John cut him off by stomping out of the door, closing it on the things he didn't want to hear. He whistled for his horse and ran to meet her, jumping up to the saddle, turning her and urging her straight into a gallop.

"Come on girl," he murmured. "They better be close."

He urged his horse through the night, shouting for Dutch, growing increasingly alarmed at how long it was taking for him to come across them. He had expected them five minutes behind him. Not ten. Not fifteen. Not twenty. He swiped at the sting of that cold night air in his eyes, telling himself it was that and nothing else that was making them tear up and stream. As he wiped at them again he finally saw the white sillhouette of Dutchs horse standing out against the night, no riders on her back. He jumped from his horse again, yelling to Dutch where he could see him on the ground, Arthur's head in his lap. 

"I got something! " John shouted. "Dutch I got something. " He slowed and dropped to his knees beside them. "Arthur, can you open your mouth for me?" He unstoppered the vial. "Arthur?" John looked to Dutch. Dutch who had not even raised his head to look at him. "I got something, " he whispered. "Dutch..." He thrust the vial at Dutch who made no move to take it, just shook his head still refusing to look up. "We should try giving it to him, " John said. The silence spread out between them. "This isn't how he goes Dutch. He's gonna get thrown by a horse who won't break, he's gonna get shot. He's gonna... he'll hang...or... he'll..." John swallowed, looking frantically around him as if a miracle might appear, as if anything could help the situation. His breathing felt wrong, felt hitched and sharp and he realised he was gulping in at sobs that clawed at his throat. 

Dutch finally looked up from Arthur. "John, " he said. "Let's take him home. Let him ride with you, " he motioned behind him and John looked to Dutchs horse, nodding when he saw the vomit and blood that was drying in her fur and mane. John stood, leaving the vial in the dirt on the floor and mounted up behind his saddle. He manoeuvred close to Arthur and bent down to help Dutch ease Arthur up in front of him as gently and with as much care and dignity as they could.

They rode their horses at a slow walk side by side, John trying not to jostle Arthur but holding him back to his chest, guiding his body to move gently with the motion of the animal below them. He exchanged a glance with Dutch as they approached their camp, tears escaping his hold on them, letting them fall as they wished. Dutch dismounted first, ignoring the hurry of Hosea towards him as he eased Arthur down with John's help. He ignored the horrified gasp from Ms Grimshaw, he ignored the quiet wail that came from the ladies gathered around. He ignored everything but John's hand on his shoulder, their eyes meeting and a nod as they picked Arthur up and carried him to his own cot next to his own possessions and placed him down there.

John sat on the floor next to Arthur, Dutch sat next to him, head bowed and hat in his hands. John removed his hat too and reached out to grasp Dutch at the back of the neck. A touch to let him know that he was still there. That between them they'd lost a son and a brother but they were there with him and with each other. He looked up and saw the rest of the gang gathered outside around Arthur's tent and nodded as each of them removed their hats, as the ladies dropped their gaze to the floor. He squeezed Dutch a little tighter causing him to look up too. Dutch extended a hand towards Hosea who walked into the tent. 

As the sun began to lighten the sky Hosea pulled at the ties that kept the tent open and let the fabric close around the four of them.


End file.
